Losses
by The Smiling Shadow
Summary: In the beginning there were more innocent times, but such innocence and joy were taken away. Then there was only the time of pain. Brown and Jones, when they lose everything, even each other.


During war there are losses. Children lose fathers and mothers, fathers and mothers lose children. Cadets lose their captains; captains lose their crew, even their ship. Rebels drop dead all over the Matrix. The bodies are still being counted, and many cannot be identified. The body of The One is kept within machine hands, held gently and closely, like nothing else. The Matrix is rebuilding itself as a crumbling world with bits and pieces missing. Lives have been lost, and taken from the Virus that plagued the Matrix. The Virus now dead, and has been dead for weeks.

It still rains in the city, it hasn't stopped. They say it will soon, but programs doubt such a thing. The rain shall persist; it will linger in the sky. Smith even in death will not let go, will not give in. Still does he make it rain, still he holds some sort of power over the world. It will serve as a reminder of himself to those that know him, to show who he was, what he did there. How he never wanted to die.

Brown wouldn't have it any other way. It makes him feel less alone in this rain.

During war there are losses. But he never expected loss, never knew of it, never prepared for it. He was a program after all. Programs…they don't die, especially Agent programs. If they die, Agents only come back perfectly fine. He knows this, he's experience it himself. He's died before, but he always came back. He remembers each death. He possesses the mind of a machine, a mind with a great vastness and intelligent, a mind that never forgets a single second of being. He's been shot in the head before, from various angles. His brain that really was never his brain has been shot out of the skull that never really was his skull. He has shed someone else's blood, but he always came back.

Agents don't die, that's what he believed.

How strange it is for one who was surrounded by death to not truly understand it.

They never believed in death, only thought about it when Smith died. Smith who was shattered into pieces, who died, and never came back. Or at least never came back to them.

Abandoned by their own leader, lost in a world that they had lived their entire immortal lives. How pathetic were they, to live but not to fully understand everything around them. Centuries old and they were experiencing the world as if they were toddlers. They already knew everything, they just had never experienced before like they were. They knew data, and numbers. They knew that water's temperature could be changed, but they had not felt cold water or hot water. They knew that flowers produced a pleasant aroma and often had colorful designs on their petals in order to attract insects such as bubble bees. But they never really smelled a flower.

The first months were the most pleasant, and the most innocent. The first months when their fear was quickly forgotten, and they entered the world, more curious than anything else. More awed and amazed than anything else, more willing to learn. They had so much to learn back then. How strange it was to them, how…infectious it was to them, the world. The world they once protected, now they hid in it. They loved learning. They smiled at it, and learned what laughter was. And they were happy then, when an entire world they had been blind to was suddenly so very clear.

And how strange it was for the people around them, to watch as grown men in suits investigate the difference between a sunflower and a petunia. Brown even got in some trouble in his enthusiasm to learn. He, not knowing how to really be gentle, in an attempt to make contact with a child, accidentally poked her relentlessly, making her cry. Brown was shaken by her reaction, and it was Jones who told him they should leave.

In those times they, even as murderers, were innocent.

But the innocence soon faded, and enthusiasm became lust. Then when they were alone, they learned how to feel alone. And they remembered who they once were only weeks ago. What they did in this world, what was once their purpose. Who was once their leader. And once again they were afraid, and lonesome. It was then at night when they were quiet, that they realized how much silence hurt. They looked for him, their leader. They searched for him everywhere, returning to places where they had killed. They didn't want to be alone anymore, they didn't want silence anymore.

But they only found their replacements.

And that is the defining moment they learned what they had become, what they now had, and how to run to keep it.

They were Exiles, they had each other, they had life.

They were alive, and they did not want to die. They had observed a dying crow just a few days before this revelation. They watched on a park bench as it flew, and flew, and fell. It landed with a thud and crawled, rising up its wings, and limping to a tree. It tried to fly again, to get up into the tree, which they assumed was its home. The little crow tried and tried, and soon stopped moving all together. They had watched many people die before, so many, countless humans die by their hands or their leader's. But seeing this little crow died finally made clear what all these deaths had demonstrated. Every creature has life, even if they are not real, and every creature tries so much to go on living. They did not understand it until then, when a gun was pointed at their heads.

They ran, and ran, and ran for what they recognized as their lives. They hid, afraid of it all, afraid of what they had just learned. Afraid of their replacements. They could have cried if they knew how at the time.

And this wouldn't even be the worst moment of their lives.

They went on in paranoia, peeking out windows and doorways before going on, never taking another moment to learn, in those moments their replacements could shoot them in the head. They would always stand guard for their lives, no matter how tempting it was.

It was Brown who suffered most in this transition. He was always curious in a sense, as curious as his Agent programming had allowed him to be, maybe a little more. And finally, in the first months of innocence he had experienced true freedom and indulged his curiosity and his senses to an extreme. Jones would see him staring out the windows of wherever they hid, and felt Brown's sense of longing. Brown would sigh, and they both knew it.

They were never going to be free again.

It is then that they learned that all they had were each other, and they learned to care for each other. Not like it used to be, when they were Agents, and they were part of a whole. And when they looked at each other all they could see was just another part of one component. But now…now it was something different. They were not one anymore, they were separate, and they had to keep each other. They owned each other, and they had to protect each other. They had to watch each other.

Still they lusted for what they once had. When they weren't afraid and when they were all one. When they had a leader. Still they searched for him, the missing part of themselves. The one thing that could make them whole again. The one that could combine them again, and unite them again. For even learning so much, such a thing was still oblivious to them.

They walked the rooftops, and sometimes ran, and sometimes hid. But they always searched for him. Always whispered his name in the dark. Like children they looked up at the fake stars, and it was Brown who asked the stars where their leader was. Brown hopefully looked up at them, and so did Jones, but the stars never answered.

They were alone, abandoned, beaten, and discarded.

What a fall they had made from being Agents, Jones would always say. But Brown would argue, he would tell Jones all they had seen and all they had learned. Wasn't all of it worth losing their titles as Agents? Was all this fear and doubt and loneliness worth the first months of true freedom?

Jones would never answer. This would make Brown sad.

Little did they know that those nights when they were alone would become the nights they would look back upon, and hold as one of their happier times. At least back then they had each other. At least back then they were still alive, and they weren't thrown into the bigger war that was raging outside the walls of the Matrix. At least in those nights it was quiet, and there was no screaming, or the sound of thunder.

------------

"Eat it quickly." Jones told him.

"I can't. I'll get a brain freeze." Brown said with a grin.

"You know what I mean." Jones sighed in anger.

Brown held back a laugh, and continued eating, or rather licking his ice cream. It was vanilla, Jones preferred chocolate, but he didn't particularly enjoy eating as much as Brown did. It was in a nice waffle cone and was one scoop, and Brown smiled enjoying the frosty taste.

"You wouldn't want my brain to freeze, would you Jones?" Brown smiled.

"Of course not." Jones said still annoyed.

"They're probably busy anyway. You remember it, don't you? Kill, kill, kill, coffee break, kill, kill, interrogate, kill…"

"I believe the coffee break was absent." Jones said.

"Really!" Brown joked.

"We should be looking for Smith."

"I wonder if he has discovered ice cream."

Brown would never finish that ice cream, the sound of gunfire would make him drop it. And they would be running again. Why is it, he asked himself, why is it every time we are brave enough to take a moment's rest do they find us? Why every time we let our guard down they find us? Why can't they just leave us alone?

Jones would be pulling Brown by the arm, as they jumped and ran as they had learned. Climb up the fire escapes, kick the emergency exit doors open, kick down the doors to the apartments of poor screaming women, and jump out the windows to the next building. Sometimes run through crowds or escape through the subways. But they ran and ran and ran again and again and again.

But this time they wouldn't have to run. And after all their searching what they had longed for finally found them.

For when Brown looked down the end of a hallway what he saw made him fall to his knees. They were not Agents, not their replacements.

Smith stood at the end of the hallway, and he looked back at them just as he had when they were all one. That time seemed so long ago, but looking at him it made it seemed like it was just yesterday. They had forgotten how to be one again, but looking at Smith, they thought he could teach them. Brown smiled at him on the ground, and Jones' grip on Brown loosened as they both gazed upon Smith. He was there, he was right there. And he would go to them, and speak to them, and promise them so many things.

But he might as well have been an entire world away.

They didn't know it at the time, too overjoyed to see it, blinded by happiness that they had learned. Smith walked up to them, and was taken back by the fact that Brown was hugging him. Smith spoke to them, and they listened, having no idea they were in the presence of the equivelant of The One of Machines. Smith said he had been searching for them as well, and was quite pleased he had finally found them. Smith did leave out the fact that he had learned how to lie very well. They asked him so many questions. Where he had been, what had happened to him, what Thomas A. Anderson did to him. He said he would answer them all later.

Smith promised to lead them, and as he walked away they blindly followed. They were even blind to the room that was to their lefts, where two Smiths were now assimilating Agents Johnson, Thompson, and Jackson, and making them into Smiths.

They didn't know it, but Smith was leading them to death and decay.

And soon after that, like their leader, they were killed. And like their leader, they would soon come back to life.

--------------

It would be a second time of Innocence.

When they would awaken on the floor, unable to move. Brown out of desperation would eventually crawl over to Jones and lay next to him. They would then hold each other, and Brown would shake, he was so cold. They would wake up moments after their leader would die for the second time.

"It all felt like a dream."

Indeed it felt like a dream, a horrible dream that became distorted and morphed into a horrible nightmare that they didn't think they could ever wake up from. In the beginning, when they were first stripped of themselves, and their own shells took the form of Smith, in the beginning they were screaming. They were struggling, they were trying to get out, trying to become themselves again. Trying to shut their eyes from the whole thing, and Smith took notice of this. But soon…very soon, the struggling ended, and they couldn't fight it any longer. They were locked inside their own bodies, own minds, and soon they ceased to think. And all they were, were memories forced to watch the present through the eyes of Smith. Just always watching, always watching the world go by. It was like watching a television that they were forced to watch. And it would be their first exposure to the emotion hate.

They died inside themselves, and watched as the rain began to fall. And looked down at their hands to see the cracks forming on Smith's skin. And that is when they felt pain for the first time in so long.

"Smith – he's screaming!" Brown yells, covering his ears.

Jones holds onto him tighter, and Brown rolls up into a ball.

"He's gone. He's gone. He's gone." Jones repeated. 

And for a few days all they would do is lie there in the basement of some apartment, lost and confused, trying to put themselves back together again. This would be the first time Brown would ever cry. And then they rose up to their feet, so glad, so thankful that they were alive again, that they had each other again.

And for a time it was good. They learned to walk again, and run again. They saw the world again through new eyes. They learned everything all over again, and this time when Brown poked a girl she did not cry, but simply asked what. They lived happily, as they learned what was happening on the outside. What Neo, The One had done to the world. What peace had begun. And all Neo had to do was kill Smith.

There was some sorrow in that, but they didn't let it take hold of them. They heard what the humans and machines were saying about Smith. Could they have cleared some misconceptions up? Of course, but they didn't. They didn't want to be any part of it ever again. Enough of this war, and everything. They hated it, they couldn't stand it. To everyone that ever knew them, they wanted to seem dead. Yes, they were dead, and in death they could be left alone. And no one could ever bother them again with Smith or the war or anything about anything ever again.

It would just be them, and it was. It was an innocent time, a happy time again. They walked out in the open, and they ate different kinds of food. And even ventured out into buying clothing, though they were still suits, different suits nonetheless. Where they got the money, they'll never tell.

They were searching for an apartment at the time, they were getting tired of laying on the ground. Well, Jones was getting tired of Brown laying on him for a pillow. They had once tried to sleep through one night in a mall they had successfully snuck into after hours, they found quite comfy beds, but it didn't end very well, and well, they're not going to try it again.

They were going to start another life.

But then that innocence that they held onto was taken from them, forever.

--------------

"Jones!"

There was so much gunfire, and they had gotten out of practice! They hadn't fought in so long, they never wanted to fight again! They didn't want to run ever again, or be afraid again! But they came…and there was so much gunfire, they couldn't possible have dodged all the bullets.

Jones' limp body fell to the floor, blood pouring from a hole in his skull. And then Brown felt a gun barrel press upon the back of his head.

"Jones!" Brown tried again.

And it was like everything he had learned in all his freedom had been forgotten. He was a machine again, one part of a whole, and he was watching a part of him die. Respond, respond, ran his machine mind. Respond, Agent Jones, respond. Failure to Transmit, network connection missing. And then he was what he had become again.

"Come back, Jones!" And he cried.

The barrel was pressed even harder on his head, and he froze.

"You inferior little Exile." Voiced Agent Johnson. "What did you assume would happen? You cannot escape us, Former Agent Brown. You are…"

"You killed him." Brown interrupted. "You killed him! He's dead! He's dead! Do you understand that! Can you comprehend death, or do you have to be threatened with it to see it? He's dead! You killed him! You killed him!"

"His deletion was necessary." Johnson said. "And so is yours."

Johnson laughed, and sounded like Smith.

"What are you going to do now, Brown?"

Brown still isn't sure what he did in those next moments. It's all a blur to him, maybe he doesn't want to remember it, maybe he can't. Perhaps it is a malfunction his machine mind provided, or perhaps the bringing of his own more human mind that makes him forget it. Too overwhelming to remember.

But there was screaming, and there was pain. But before he knew it, there were three Agents dead before him, all with bullet holes somewhere in their body. Brown was holding a gun, and he didn't know where he got it from. But it didn't matter.

He fell to the ground next to the dead Jones, and he cried.

It was then something inside Brown broke down, and that little curious person who even while killing people seemed so innocent, was gone. They took it from him, they stripped him of it. Everything he had, everything he was going to be, everything he could have been…was now gone, laying dead in his arms in the form of Jones.

--------------

Then it was only a time of pain and sorrow.

"What are you going to do now?"

Brown's hand is shaking.

"What are you going to do now, Brown?"

He's nearly dropping the gun.

"I don't know." Brown answers. "What do you want me to do, Smith?"

The lightning flashes, and the sound of thunders comes their way. Smith stands in front of Brown at gun point, holding onto the corners of the walls for support. Behind him is a broken window. Smith's hands are bleeding, he broke the window. Smith is panting, and he says one of his ribs are broken. His suit is dirty with mud and is torn in several places. His sunglasses are gone, he lost them long ago.

How long has it been, since you last died? Brown thinks. Nearly sixty years now. Nearly sixty years of peace and sixty years of those humans waking up. Nearly sixty years ago Smith was killed by Neo, The One. But Smith wasn't really dead. No, Brown should have known that. Smith never dies, never. Smith just…barely lived on. Smith just continued on…kept going like Smith always did as the stubborn person he was. Smith…broken and beaten, a piece of who he was, now stands before him.

"Tell me what do to, Smith. Tell me what do to like you used to." Brown tells him.

Smith pants in pain, and shakes his head.

"I can't…." Smith says.

"Why not!" Brown yells.

"Because you won't listen…"

Brown stares at him, and holds the gun steady, aiming for Smith's heart.

"Where's Jones?" Smith asks, weakly, as if he really wants to see Jones.

"He's dead."

"Oh…Jones…Brown I'm sorry, it must have…"

"Shut up. You don't care."

Smith lowers his head.

"If you did care you would have never killed us in the first place."

"Brown…"

"No. We looked for you. Everywhere we went. Even after you abandoned us! You came to us! You gave us hope again, Smith! You were the world to us! All we wanted was to be with you again! And what do you do? Smith! What do you do?" Brown's hand is shaking. "You betray us! We gave you our trust! Our lives! We followed you blindly, and you kill us! Do you have any idea how much it hurts…becoming you?"

Smith looks up at Brown, falling onto the wall to hold himself up. He wants to speak. What happened to you, Brown? What made you like this?

"We loved you. And you just…you just didn't care…we could have helped you Smith. We could have helped you, if only you told us, if only you asked." Brown goes on.

"No you couldn't. This goes far beyond my exiling, Brown. This…this has been going on ever since I can remember…this hatred, this pain!" Smith tries, taking a step forward on the wall.

"But you were free! You could have chosen a different path!"

"I didn't want a different path! I wanted purpose!"

And for a second Brown lowers his gun.

"So did we. But we found other things…besides hate, and anger, and revenge… We found other emotions…we found purpose in each other…can't you understand that?"

And Smith looks at him, as if he doesn't.

"You pitiful piece of a man, what life have you known? What more than hatred have you felt? Was it like this, even with Jones and I? Did you hate us?"

"I never hated you…I just wanted…to be like you…to not…smell these smells, and feel these things…"

"Why? Why did you hurt us then? Kill us? Why couldn't we come with you? You know we would have! We were so blind at the time!"

"…Because if you were still alive, I would never have been truly free."

"Free? Free? I had freedom, Smith! I was happy! I loved the world, I had Jones! And then…it was all taken away from me! Do you have any idea…what that feels like? To be…completely broken? To have…nothing, absolutely nothing?"

"Yes…I ruled the entire world, Brown…It was mine…didn't you hear me? Now look at me!"

"You ruled nothing! All you had you hated, all that loved you, you killed!"

Brown pulls the gun back up. And there is more lightning.

"If you kill me…you'll be alone again. At least…I can offer some company…" Smith says. "Do you want to be alone again?"

He always hated being alone, he hated the silence, he hated the darkness, and the cold emptiness.

"You deserve to die, Smith. You've left me with no choice…" Brown says. "I want you to die, Smith. I really do."

And for once, Smith has pure sadness in his face.

"Why, Smith? Why?" Brown asks.

"Please…don't…." Smith begs.

"I…hate you…so much… You're the only reason I hate…you taught it to me…and now you curse me to live in agony like you have…I hate…so many things now…because you showed it to me…I hate you, Smith. I truly, utterly, hate you."

No, Smith thought, no, you're not like this because of me. It wasn't me, I couldn't have changed you like this.

"Brown…I'm sorry."

"I can only hope…that you'll once again die…and come back, and I won't hate you…. I'll miss you, Smith."

"Brown…"

He fires the gun, and Smith falls over dead. Brown drops the gun and looks down at the body of Smith…his eyes still open, still looking up at him…Brown falls down on the ground, and holds the second dead body he's ever held. He holds Smith, and cries.

He's the only one left now.

He's had his losses in this war. Losses he never expected to have. The concept of death was not known to him for so long. And here he is, killing again…His losses, when he didn't even really know he was part of this war.

He didn't want it to be like this. He just wanted…to be happy again with Jones.

--------------

There are two graves he's buried himself, headstones read "Smith" and "Jones." Simple, like Agents would want. They're in a graveyard where Zion soldiers are buried and there is a shrine to Neo on the other side. No one knows they're there, Brown did it in the night, when no one was there. He didn't give them coffins, he just buried them there. He visits them often, and tells them about his day alone.

It's raining today, as he carries an umbrella and stands between them. Today he has nothing to say, all he has done is miss them. And it is a moment of peace, when it is just him, his family, and the rain.

"Former Agent Brown…" Comes a weak voice

Brown looks back to see Johnson, Thompson, and Jackson. He stares at them for a moment, wondering if he should start running, or take out his gun about now. But the Agents in front of him don't move, and they stand staring at him, confused.

"Leave me alone." Brown says.

"But…"

"I said leave me alone! Haven't you taken enough from me?" Brown yells at them.

The Agents for a moment back away. Brown begins to walk away.

"Wait! We're Exiles now!" Johnson yells.

Brown stops, and before turning to them, grins.

"What do you want me to do about that?" Brown asks.

"…Will you help us?" Johnson asks, and the others nod.

"I hate you." Brown says.

And he stares at them, the Agents now Exiles, a mirror of himself with Jones, and what could have been Smith. He sees them, afraid, alone, and cold, standing there in the rain. And he can't help but see himself.

"…Stay together. No matter what." Brown tells them. "That's all I have to say to you."

"But…Brown!"

Brown drops his umbrella, and he begins to run away. Run far away. Far away from them, far away from the world. The world he once saw with such hopeful eyes. The world was new, and the world was hopeful. But Jones was there with him, back then. Back then he wasn't alone, and he was more whole. What happened to him? He doesn't want to hate anymore, he wishes he didn't. He just…wants to be happy again.

But a long time ago his freedom was taken from him, and then his happiness. Like Jones and Smith he's dead too.

He goes on though. All alone, he keeps going. He doesn't know really why he does, but Jones…Jones wouldn't want him to just…give up and stop.

He's the only one left now, but he'll go on to see all of the world, and watch it go by.


End file.
